Reflections
by Nice Huntress
Summary: Oneshot. The memories of various fighter's after a particularily hard battle as they make their way home.Written in the style of David Gemmell. May he rest in peace.


**Reflections**

The silence permeating the many ranks of the profound fighters was something that struck Mikalon as strange; the younger soldiers had always had high spirits, had always had positive thoughts of going back home after the battle. They would normally have an optimistic aura about them, one that boasted enough confidence to defeat an army of Syamyres; people of the North-Western lands in Syamay, Mikalon's natural enemies. The Syamyre army was one feared throughout the Jurjone lands; their ferocity pulled down cities and destroyed millions of lives. They were ruthless hunters, taking pleasure in torturing their victims over long periods of time. They cut off innocents' fingers for minor offences such as cursing, and then a whole hand for stealing bread and cattle, and other minorities that would feed poor families. They crushed city after city, leaving what were once beautiful places as one large ruin, filled with rivers of tears and the acrid stench of burning buildings and bodies in their wake.

Mikalon, as the General of this current division in the Asadion Army, stopped his men in a large clearing of the forest they were travelling through, by a high cliff face, to set up camp for the next two nights. They were ahead of their travelling schedule as it was, and though many wanted to get home after the battle they had fought against a rivalling army from the East, they needed to rest, else they wouldn't heal properly and they would lose more of the soldiers. Mikalon himself had almost lost his leg in the action, as he had barely managed to dodge the short blade of a steel dagger quickly enough, and though it had still cut his thigh quite deeply, Mikalon had resolved any issues with the opponent by swiftly taking off the other mans head, before turning to face the next soldier who dared mess with him on that tragic day.

The Eastern division in the battle had been one from Ketzpallo, a large city that resided in the East of Jurjone. They were a force to be reckoned with, but were nothing like the Syamyre army, a battle against those men was one that Mikalon feared he'd have to lead his men into one day in the near future if they were to protect their lands in the south.

Merely an hour later, the tents had been erected around the makeshift campsite, the remaining soldiers gathered around a few small fires scattered about, their silver armour stored away for the time being as they finally had the chance to relax. Mikalon rested in his tent, his eyes closed as he tried to get a few moments sleep, hopefully without nightmares. His consciousness just fading as there was a voice at the door.

"Sir?" It was a young voice, one he recognised of one of the newer recruits. With a sigh, Mikalon sat up slowly and opened his dark eyes to look at the soldier. He was quite handsome, extremely young too; his blue eyes had sparkled with happiness and were full of life before he had witnessed his first battle. The soldier's long black hair was tied at the base of his neck in a short tail that looked much like Mikalon's own.

"What is it Soraban?" Mikalon asked wearily, keeping his gaze on the young man.

"We have just roasted some rabbit, if you wanted any." Soraban informed him. Mikalon nodded with a small smile, Soraban was a good man, just nineteen summers old and recently married, and he had joined the army in hopes of glorifying his family name, which was well-known to have thieves and petty criminals somewhere along the way in the ancestry.

The pair walked to a small campfire which illuminated the faces of the living soldiers, whose mood had changed somewhat from earlier. They were now joking and laughing, sharing tales that the rare wives of the few married men wouldn't agree with. Soraban sat down next to his comrade and picked up a pitcher of water before reaching for his makeshift bowl that had some well-cooked rabbit inside. It had taken the soldiers a while to get these, but from the taste, it was well worth the fight the rodents had given them.

"So Soraban, what of your little lady?" Daquan, a soldier who was a few years his senior had asked him, as the others around glanced over. Soraban blushed; he wasn't one who had been acquainted with a whore at any point, unlike most of the other soldiers. He rubbed his swollen wrist slightly as he tried to think of something to say.

"Leave the boy alone," An older soldier of around forty summers, known to Soraban as Baldric said, "His business with his wife is not business of yours." He continued with a wink at Soraban, who coloured further. The group laughed.

"Baldric the Brave!" A soldier Soraban didn't know of exclaimed, "Always there too protect the innocent minds!" He continued in a theatrical way, ending in a laugh that was echoed heartily. Soraban noticed the small smile making its way onto the face of his General, who gave him a brief nod and half-smile before returning to his rabbit, keeping a watchful eye on the joyful soldiers.

Soraban wondered how they did it. How they could act as though they hadn't just fought what had seemed to be a losing battle the day before, and that they hadn't lost fifty or so of their fighters in what had been a meagre handful of them to begin with, their original numbers making around a hundred and fifty at most. They had been sent to deal with a group of waylaid convicts who had been threatening nearby towns and ransacking them. The Ketzpallonion's had been a rebel group against their own army, and against what their army had stood for. However the main army hadn't bothered to sort out the rebels themselves as they didn't see the point to it. They had been led by an almost mental man named Seruven, who had twisted ideals of the perfect world. He had led the two hundred or so men around Jurjone to 'dispose of filth' and spent their time thieving from the small towns they had ambushed.

Soraban let loose a sigh as the others hooted with laughter, scaring away the local wildlife if it had not already gone to begin with. He thought to what it'd be like when he got back home for a small time, only to be called back into army duties. The battle he had recently been in had been small apparently, but he hoped that they didn't get much bigger than that had been. Parvana, Soraban's new wife of seventeen summers, had been extremely worried for him. She had cried for a day after she had found out about his application to the Asadion army, yet had been strangely accepting when he had been called to do his duty to Asadia, and this had been just over a week of becoming a soldier.

Soraban smiled as he thought of his wife. Parvana was a beautiful girl from a small town in the north somewhere. She had divine copper skin with large dark eyes and equally dark, sensual hair. She held herself with pride and could give a brilliant tongue lashing, as Soraban himself had discovered when he'd first met her. She had been helping her mother hang out the laundry to dry after washing the clothes in the nearby stream, and when her mothers back had been turned, Soraban's companion had run through the garden upon a dare and pulled a dark green jerkin from the thread line; pulling the whole line down with it. Soraban had been embarrassed and quickly ran to apologise for his friend, even though the others had fled in the opposite direction. Parvana had seen him and gave him what had been the largest lecture he had ever received, which had ended in using their mouths in a more creative way. Soraban's smile widened. The last time he was with her had been the night before he left. He remembered how beautiful her dark body had been in the flickering candlelight. How she stepped into the cot beside him as he held back the sheepskin covers. He'd pulled her closer for a passionate kiss which had led to them rolling over, Soraban feeling as though he was floating over her naked body as he pulled away from her kiss to just take in how amazing she was. Her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathed heavily, becoming more aroused by every moment. He'd moved over her and kissed her again before-

"Bastard!" Soraban shouted in slight anger and glared up at Fanteno fiercely, though his face flamed at being caught daydreaming. The tall, dark man just laughed.

"Stop your dreamin' lad, that's for the bedroom, unless you're too busy doing other things…" Fanteno trailed off, insinuating exactly what Soraban had been thinking of, to which the younger soldier blushed even more, causing Fanteno to chuckle at the boy. Fanteno was an easy-going man, though in the heart of battle he would become as harsh as a wolf, tearing into the enemy like a wolf would its meat. Soraban grasped the hand that had been offered to him in a warrior-like grip as he was pulled off of the floor from where he had been pushed by the afore mentioned man, then settled back onto the log serving as a bench for the time being.

Soraban noticed that the area had emptied somewhat as the other men left to the nearby pool by a waterfall that was just slightly west of their position to bathe, or to their tents for an early nights rest. The young man was seated with around five other soldiers, whilst others who had remained behind were gathered in groups around the other small fires.

"Thinking of the lass then?" Fanteno asked lightly, he too was married, and had children back home. Soraban nodded, swallowing to rid the lump that had formed in his throat, it had been two weeks, and he had missed Parvana almost desperately. "It gets better with time." Fanteno stated and patted Soraban on the back.

"How do you do it?" Soraban asked as he looked up at the older soldier, "How do you leave for what could be the last time you see her each time?" Fanteno sighed and glanced at the other men, who had drifted off into their own conversations.

"You just do, to fight for your city." Fanteno said, "You're fighting for her and your future, just remember that." Fanteno closed his eyes almost painfully. He had been in many battles over the years, leaving his wife and children behind each time. He had slaughtered, murdered hundreds of people to 'help make their lives better'. What he didn't understand was how, how did it make it better? If they could only come to some form of agreement, but Fanteno had given up on believing in the perfect world where there was no fighting, and continued fighting as it was the only thing he knew.

A sudden onslaught of images came to mind of the last fight. Fast paced, furious, blood shed and lives lost. He rubbed his right hand down his currently bandaged left arm as he remembered the battle. Fanteno had been on the front line. After hearing the battle cry he charged forwards into the opposing group who held long, ornate daggers. They were fancy, but wouldn't hold their own against the swords of the Asadion's. Fanteno had clove his sword through the waist of the first soldier to appear before him hitting the spine at the back, before turning his sword in a graceful arc into the steel helm of the next enemy. It efficiently stunned the other soldier long enough for Fanteno to send his sword straight through the man's stomach. Pulling it clear Fanteno let him fall, blood gushing. He had cried out in alarm as a dagger ripped down his arm, pulling away a thick amount of flesh at the entrance point near his shoulder, and the blade was curved as it was ripped out by his elbow, nearly taking Fanteno's arm off. The blade had rendered his arm ineffective and Fanteno glared at the man who'd done it, the man had been looking quite satisfied with himself, though the head that fell to the floor had wide eyes and a shocked look about it.

Fanteno shook his head clear it of the thoughts of battle. His arm was now healing even if it was heavily bandaged, and the lives taken had just been insignificant to the greater cause. The battlefield was probably still soaking with the blood, and Fanteno remembered the pack of white wolves he'd seen hiding in the shadows of a nearby forest, just waiting to go take their fill on the carcasses and dying men. He frowned to himself for morbid thoughts before glancing at Soraban, who was talking quietly with Mikalon. Fanteno clapped the boy on the shoulder with a wane smile before heading towards his tent for some much needed rest.

* * *

**AN: I wrote this two years ago for my English AS coursework (and got a nice little grade for it) and have been meaning to upload it since. It is my attempt at writing in the style of David Gemmel (R.I.P) and I believe that I done it quite well!**


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